CHAPTER IV
A MAN'S STRENGTH
M. de Boufflers refused to surrender; he was a Marechal de France, hehad still many thousand men, including M. Megrigny, the engineeresteemed second only to M. de Vauban, and the castle was deemedimpregnable. The assault was fixed for one in the afternoon. The Kingof England, the Elector of Bavaria, the Landgrave of Hesse, other Germanpotentates and the officers of their staff gathered on the rockypromontory immediately below the ramparts of the citadel; before themrose the castle ringed with walls, batteries, palisades, fosses, dykes,and traverses, and set back two miles or more in elaborate ramparts andoutworks.
The allies had formed a complete circumvallation round the hugefortress, and had opened their trenches at the very foot of the rockwhich M. de Vauban had fortified with such deadly skill.
The day was extraordinarily hot and cloudless; the sun, being now justoverhead, blazed with equal light on the ruined town, the lofty castle,on counterscarp, glacis, and half-moon, on the trenches, the defences ofwattled sticks lined with sandbags, on the distant spreading encampmentof the allies, on the still more distant sparkle of the Meuse, whichglittered across the great plain and on the walls of the Abbey ofSalsines.
It shone, too, on a thousand flags, a thousand squads of men moving withbayonets and matchlocks set to the attack, and gleamed in the armour ofthe little group of gentlemen who were directing the operations, andsometimes sent a long ray of burning light from their perspectiveglasses as they turned them on the castle or the approaching regimentsof their own troop as they defiled through the town.
It had been arranged that the assault was to be made in four places atonce, by the Dutch, Brandenburghers, Bavarians, and English severally;the first three were tried and veteran troops, the fourth, however,consisted of recruits who were seeing their first campaign and had neverbeen under fire before; the best English troops had marched to encounterVilleroy, and had not been summoned to the attack.
The King turned his glasses on the trenches where these regimentswaited; they were under the command of John Cutts, as brave and gallantan officer as ever breathed.
William put down his glasses and looked up at the grim citadel.
"This is a severe test for them," he remarked.
The Electoral Prince was taking a bet from the exultant Kohorn that theywould enter Namur by the 31st of August. William laughed.
"I am sorry that Your Highness should put money on our failure," hesaid. "I hear that the betting in London is greatly in our favour."
"This is a matter of dates, Your Majesty," answered M. de Bavaria. "Isay 'No' only to August the 31st."
"I am glad M. de Kohorn is so confident," said William graciously to thegreat engineer.
M. de Hesse, who wore on his finger a watch in a great ring ofbrilliants, remarked that the time was near ten minutes to one; M. deBavaria bowed profoundly and galloped off to direct his own men inperson; the King looked keenly round to see that none of his servantswere lurking in the line of fire. Interference was almost as unendurableto him as cowardice; more than once during the siege he had beenexasperated into horsewhipping some daring footmen or valet out of thetrenches. During the assault of July the 27th he had been considerablyvexed to see M. Godfrey, one of the directors of the new Bank ofEngland, among his officers, and had severely reprimanded him for hispresence in so dangerous a position.
"But I run no more risk than you, sire," M. Godfrey had protested.
The King's answer and the sequel were long remembered.
"I, sir," he replied, "may safely trust to God, since I am doing my dutyin being here, while you----"
The sentence remained unfinished, for a French cannon shot laid M.Godfrey dead at the King's side. William had hoped that this wouldprove a lesson to useless meddlers, but even since he had been provokedby various people who had business at the camp, and who strayed into thetrenches to get a view of real fighting, often with no conception of thedanger of the slow dropping bombs and bullets.
But this afternoon the King's eagle eyes were satisfied that the workswere clear of sightseers; it had been fairly well spread abroad thatthis assault would be, beyond experience, terrible, and those whose dutydid not take them to the front were well in the rear.
M. de Hesse and the other Germans having galloped off to their posts,the King remained alone with his staff, midway between the ramparts thatwere to be attacked and the English trenches, full in the cross-line offire, and motionless and conspicuous as a target on the little juttingshelf of rock; his officers were a little way behind, and his figure wascompletely outlined against the blue gap of sun-filled air behind therock slope.
He rode a huge grey Flemish horse, dark as basalt and as smooth--verylightly trapped with red leather linked with silver gilt--that hemanaged as well as a man can. He had always been renowned for hisconsummate horsemanship, and this great beast, that had taken twofootmen to hold in before he mounted, he held delicately with one handon the reins with such a perfect control, that the creature was utterlymotionless on the narrow ledge of slippery rock.
The hot air was full of different distant and subdued sounds--the rattleof the guns, the clink of the matchlocks striking the cobbles of thetown below, the tramp of feet, the neighing of horses, and,occasionally, the crowing of a cock on some farm outside Namur.
The King sat with his reins loose, holding in his right hand his batonthat he rested against his hip. He was intently watching the Englishtrenches.
The clocks of the churches in Namur struck one; instantly a loud reportand a jet of flame came from the trenches below; two barrels ofgunpowder had been blown up as a signal for the attack.
Before the smoke had cleared, all the minor sounds were silenced by thesteady beat of drums and kettledrums, and the King perceived theGrenadiers marching from behind their defences and earthworks steadilytowards the ramparts of Namur--these were the men of Cutt's ownregiment. They were immediately followed by the four new battalions.They came on steadily, in good order, with their bright, unspoiltcolours in their midst, their colonels riding before them. The Kingcould discern the slender figure of John Cutts marching on foot beforethe Grenadiers with his drawn sword in his hand.
There was no sign from the castle. The English leapt, man after man,the last deep trench of their own earthworks, and suddenly, at a wordfrom their leader, whose voice came faintly to the King's ears, brokeinto a run and dashed up the slope at the foot of the rock, and full atthe first wall of the French fortifications.
Instantly the batteries of the garrison opened a terrible fire, and aconfused echo to their thunder told that the other three divisions ofthe confederates were meeting a like reception.
The English kept on; the little body of the Grenadiers, with the fourbattalions supporting them and at the head of all John Cutts, climbedthe face of the rock with no sign of disorder.
The King wheeled his horse round to face them, and his brilliant eyesnever left their ranks.
The French commenced fire from the guns behind their first palisade,which swept the ranks of the advancing English with deadly effect.
Almost every officer of the Grenadiers fell on the hot, bare rock. Thedrums began to give a disconnected sound, the colours wavered, but themen pressed on, with Cutts still running before them and the recruitsdoggedly behind them.
The King sent one of his officers with orders for the English batteriesto open fire as soon as the breach had been made.
There was, in the space of a few seconds, hardly an officer left amongthe English, the colonels, captains, and lieutenants, who had dashedforward to encourage their men, were lying scattered about thehill-side--patches of scarlet and steel--with their riderless horsesrunning frantically back towards the camp.
Still Cutts came on. The smoke was thick about him, but the King couldsee him clearly as he came every moment nearer. The Grenadiers hadgained a firm footing on the ledge of rock beneath the palisade, andwere
about to hurl themselves against it. The cannonade was nowsupplemented by a storm of bullets. Cutts gave a shout, raised hissword, and pitched to the ground, shot through the head, while thethinned ranks of the Grenadiers rolled backwards down the rocks.
The King uttered a passionate exclamation; a bomb, cast from the castle,burst near him, and his horse reared frantically at the explosion. Whenhe had quieted the animal and the smoke had cleared, he saw two of theGrenadiers coming towards him supporting John Cutts between them. Asthey reached a deep, natural gully that cleft the rock, one fell androlled down the precipice; the other caught his officer by the arm andswung him across the chasm; the King galloped up to them.
"Is my lord slain?" he asked.
The wounded man lifted his brown eyes and laughed. Blood blotched theleft side of his face and ran through the bright brown English locks.
"Why, no, sir," he answered.
"I am glad of that," said the King. "But your men are beingrepulsed----"
"God help me--not for long!" cried my lord, and dashed the blood out ofhis eyes, and with that movement fainted.
"Call up my surgeon," commanded William to one of his officers. LordCutts was carried out of the firing line, and the King again directedhis attention to the English, who, leaderless, were nevertheless dashingforward, though without order or method, sheer against the French fire.
"It is too much for them," muttered William.
This wild charge was suddenly checked by a deep precipice blown in therock by underground powder magazines; the raw soldiers stood helpless,baffled. The air was of a continuous redness; the half-naked Frenchgunners could be seen, running in and out of their vaulted galleries andcrouching, behind the black shape of the guns; flying fragments ofshell, masonry, and rock fell among the leaderless English, whohesitated, gave way, and retreated down the bloody slope they hadgained, each rank falling back on the other in confusion, while a shoutof triumph rose from the fiery ramparts of Namur.
The King urged his beautiful horse up the zigzag path. The bulletsflattened themselves on the rocks about him with a dull, patteringsound; the horse laid back its ears and showed the scarlet of itsnostrils; the King, with infinite skill and gentleness, brought it to ahigher ridge where he could better survey the heights. The English,rolling back beneath him, looked up and saw him though the smoke, thesun darting broken rays off the star on his breast. He took off his hatcovered with black plumes and waved it to them to encourage them to comeon. A ragged cheer broke from them; they plunged forward again, but aterrific fire swept them back with half their number fallen. At thismoment the King saw Lord Cutts, hatless and with a bandaged head,running up towards the glacis.
William rode up to him. The red fire was about them as if it had beenthe colour of the atmosphere.
"My lord," said the King, reining up his horse, "they cannot do it."
A young man in a splendid uniform came riding through the strongsmelling smoke.
"Sire," he said, saluting, "the Bavarians are giving way--their generalhath fallen----"
William spoke swiftly to the Englishman.
"Can you rally your men to the assistance of the Bavarians, my lord?'Tis hopeless to attempt to make a breach here."
John Cutts smiled up at his master; he had to shout to make his voiceheard through the rattle of the cannonade--
"'Tis done, Your Majesty!"
His gallant figure slipped, like a hound from the leash, into the smoke,towards where the English Footguards were retreating, and William,pointing with his baton to where he rode that his officers might followhim, swept round the ramparts to where the Bavarians wavered before thefire of the French. Regiment after regiment had hurled in vain againstthe palisades, the ditches and clefts were choked with corpses, and inevery squad of men a great lane was torn every time the French gunnersfired their pieces, while the Dragoons stood on the glacis, sword inhand, ready to cut down whoever should touch the palisade.
"They are very determined," remarked William calmly, glancing up at thered-hot line of fire bursting from the French batteries; "but so am I."
As he spoke a bullet passed through his hair so close to his cheek thathe felt the warm whizz of it; and another, almost simultaneously, torethrough the ends of his scarf.
"For God's sake, sire," cried the officer near him, "this is certaindeath."
But the King took no heed of him; his sparkling eyes were fastened onthe faltering ranks of Bavaria, who were being borne, steadily butsurely, down the slopes, leaving dead behind them, their commander, andmost of their officers.
At the very moment when it seemed that they had hopelessly lost ground,John Cutts came running up with the colours of the Grenadiers in onehand and his sword in the other, behind him two hundred of the Englishrecruits whom he had rallied from the retreat.
The Bavarians, encouraged by this help, took heart and came forwardagain and began climbing up the rock; but Cutts and his English dashedahead of them right into the cannon fire, forced their way through thepalisade, and engaged in a hand to hand fight with the gunners andDragoons, who were driven back from their defences and hurled over theirown ramparts on to the bayonets of the Bavarians below. In a fewmoments the English had captured the battery, swung the guns round anddirected them at the Castle. With a shout the Bavarians dashed throughthe breach in the wall and, climbing over corpses of men and horses,poured into the enemy's lines.
The King watched them as they scaled ditches and trenches and palisade,then made a detour round the fire-swept face of the rock to the pointthe Dutch had been ordered to attack. Splendid soldiers, splendidlycommanded, they had already gained the position and with very littleloss; the French gunners lay in torn and mangled heaps behind theirpieces, which the Dutch were engaged in turning on the garrison.
William now gave orders that his batteries were to be brought in playfrom every available position, both on the ramparts gained and fromevery rock and out-work in the possession of the allies. He himselfrode through the broken wall and took up his position inside the Frenchpalisades, where his horse could scarcely find a footfall for the deadand dying. The air was so full of powder smoke that the walls andturrets of the castle appeared to hang as in a great fog with no visiblefoundations; the crack of musketry was incessant, and little threads offlame ran across the dark heavy vapour; fragments of rock and wallrolled continually down the slope--dislodged by bombs bursting or theexplosion of barrels of gunpowder. But this was as nothing to thecannonade. When the combined batteries of the allies opened on Namur,the oldest soldier could remember no such fire--it was a bombardmentsuch as had never been known in war. The French gunners dropped oneafter another before they could put their fuses to their pieces, andwere obliged to take refuge in their underground galleries; the roar wasunceasing, and the continual flames lit up the rocks, the chasms, thebastions with as steady and awful a glare as if the world was on fire.
A body of Dragoons made a gallant sally out on to the glacis, but wereswept down to a man before they had advanced a hundred yards. TheDutch, under cover of the French palisades, picked off with musket shotevery Frenchman who appeared within range, portions of the walls andcurtains began to fall in, the sacking and wattles, put up to catch thebullets, caught fire and flared up through the smoke.
The King could scarcely see his own staff-officers for the glare andharsh blinding vapour. His ears were filled with the lamentations ofthe mangled and delirious wretches who lay scattered about the glacis,and the sharp screams of the wounded, riderless horses who galloped intheir death agony across the ramparts and hurled themselves from theprecipices beneath. The King caressed his own animal; the insensibilityof his profession had not overcome his love of horses. He never couldlook with ease at the sufferings of these gallant creatures; for therest, he was utterly unmoved. He turned his face towards the fires thatmade many a veteran wince, and there was not the slightest change in hiscomposure save that he was more than ordinarily cheerful, and showed,perhaps, more animation t
han he had done since the death of his wife.Having satisfied himself that the Dutch had silenced all the Frenchbatteries at this point, he rode to the demi-bastion where theBrandenburghers fought the Dragoons in a terrible battle which wasresulting in the French being driven back on to the fire of their ownguns. Here he drew up his horse on the edge of a fosse that had acuvette in the middle of it with a covered way along it, from which theFrench were still firing from platoons and muskets.
The King thrust his baton through the folds of his scarf and laid hishand on the tasseled pistol in his holster; he guided his horse commonlyand by choice with his left hand, for his right arm had been shotthrough twice, at St. Neff and the Boyne, and was less easily fatiguedwith the sword than the reins. He now looked about him and perceivedthat his way to the Brandenburghers was completely barred by sometraverses to intercept fire, besides by the fosse from the gazons ofwhich the soldiers were firing, and, on the glacis which slopes beforeit, several gunners were hauling a battery into place; not far behindthem a fierce fire was being maintained from a projecting javelin.
The French, lurking in the cuvette, saw the King, and, recognising himby his great star, proceeded to take deliberate aim. He looked roundfor his staff, whom his impetuous advance had completely out-distanced,then galloped his horse right along the counter-scarp in full range ofthe enemy's fire. A dozen muskets were aimed at him; he seemed not tonotice them, but set his horse at a little fosse that crossed his path,and leapt over the dead French and bloody gazons that filled it. Theground on the other side was so cut, dissected, and strewn with bouldersand fragments of rock, that the quivering horse paused, frightened bythe shower of bullets, and, not perceiving a foothold, the King slippedout of the saddle without leaving go of the reins, ran along by thehorse's head, guiding him through the debris, and mounted again withouttouching the saddle, a well-known feat of the riding school. He was nowalmost up to the Brandenburghers, who raised a great shout as they sawhim galloping up through the smoke. He rode along the front of theirranks and glanced up at the French crouching on their earth-workswaiting for the assault.
The King drew his sword.
"We must get nearer than this," he said to the officer in command. Heset spurs to his horse, and, wheeling round, charged straight at thelines of France, the Brandenburghers after him with an irresistiblerush.
An officer of Dragoons rose up from his comrades and struck up with hissword at the figure on the huge grey charger. The King leant out of thesaddle, parried the thrust with his weapon. The Frenchman, hit by abullet in the lungs, rolled over with his face towards the citadel; thelast thing he saw on earth was the King of England high on the distantheights of Namur with the column of Brandenburghers behind him andbefore him, through the glare the tattered banner of the Bourbons wavingfrom the keep.
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